Stones

By James C. Hendee

Jason Stouter, formerly of the CIA, and his partner, Sali Bryant, formerly of the FBI, operate a business that advises international corporate travelers on terrorism, and contracts out to the CIA and Homeland Security for various jobs. When Jamie Horgood, a Homeland Security Intelligence Analyst, receives an anonymous tip that a package of jewels is supposed to be turned over to a woman who may be involved in an international kidnapping and human trafficking operation, she has no idea Jason’s quest will eventually lead to the kidnappers of the U.S. President’s daughter, Charise Pearl, and a human trafficking ring. Our two heroes enlist the help of the most successful jewel thief in America, Masen Williams, to identify the gemstones, and eventually use his boat to follow the kidnappers to an island fortress with a huge hidden cave in the Eastern Caribbean that contains the enslaved women and children.

On the other side of the world, in Ukraine, the extremely wealthy owner of a 300-foot superyacht entices beautiful women from the area to come with him to make a new life in America as models and movie stars. It’s a swindle, and the women are destined to become trafficked at exorbitant prices. However, the President’s daughter has been transferred to his yacht and our heroes have to save her, as well as the captives from Ukraine, before the yacht’s owner takes off, leaving the protagonists with no hope of saving Charise Pearl.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781638292623

James C. Hendee

James C. Hendee worked as a Marine Ecologist, Oceanographer, and Supervisory Physical Scientist for the U.S. Government (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, or NOAA) for 30 years before retiring in September 2020, after starting the Coral Health and Monitoring Program (group of researchers), originating Coral-List (over 10,000 subscribers), the Coral Reef Early Warning System (artificial intelligence monitoring of coral reef ecosystems), and finally becoming the Director of the Ocean Chemistry and Ecosystems Division (over 40 researchers) for his final seven years of U.S. government service. He has authored or co-authored 62 scientific publications (so far), written two novels, and before his life as a public servant was a halibut fisherman, kelp diver, and Dungeness crab diver in Alaska, an aquaculturist at the Oceanic Institute (Hawaii) and in Texas (Texas Parks & Wildlife Department), a snake-hunter and orchid collector in the Florida Everglades, worked on the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, served in Belize in the Peace Corps, and worked for three universities (University of Hawaii, University of Alaska, and Harvard University). Jim also has SCUBA-dived in the Arctic (Prudhoe Bay), the Pacific (Hawaii, Saipan, Australia), the Indian (Sri Lanka, Bali), and Atlantic Oceans (too many Caribbean countries to list). Jim has read hundreds of books on the craft of writing and in researching his fiction and uses some of his true experiences and adventures in his fictional writings. He currently lives in Pompano Beach, Florida.

Book preview

Chapter One

Pact Over Saba Bank

This time, said Kostya Chugunkin, I want you to kidnap the American President’s daughter for me. He was a tall handsome man of medium build in his mid-fifties and white hair. He turned to his partner in human trafficking, Zoran Marek—a slightly overweight man in his early fifties with a thick mat of black and gray hair all over his body—and said, If you can’t do that, then I want you to kill her.

Marek, as he preferred to be called, was silent for a moment. That’s a tough one—I don’t know if it’s worth the heat.

They were walking toward the open afterdeck of Kostya’s superyacht, the Turquoise Lament, where next to the pool was a large satellite-connected television screen that had the sound turned low. Surrounding the TV were two lushly upholstered and curved bamboo sofas. Behind the TV was the Eastern Caribbean Sea, and as the sun began to set, it imbued the sky with a magnificent fuchsia changing to amaranth. Kostya’s barman placed two cold pisco sours with whalebone coasters on the glass table in front of them, then retreated and the two men sat down.

The winds were calm and the surface of the ocean was nearly flat, save the occasional slight heave originating from the North Atlantic thousands of miles to the north. Below them one could see the magnificent tapestry of corals and of fish moving only forty feet below, though the water was so clear it appeared as though you could touch them easily by merely sticking your hand into the warm sea.

Marek looked Kostya directly in the eye. Are you serious?

Deadly.

You know I’m good at this, and I have a better than fifty-fifty chance of pulling it off, but it would cost you twenty-five million.

Kostya just stared at the sunset and nodded his head slightly. But only half that if you have to kill her.

Marek said, All right. May I presume that she is for your own enjoyment?

You may, but I will probably sell her to another yacht owner for more. As you know, the President has many enemies who would delight in abusing her, even though they wouldn’t be stupid enough to let the President know they had her.

And may I ask why you picked her in particular?

The fucking President’s Homeland Security Investigations froze all my assets in Antigua for trade-based money laundering, and I want them back. We’re talking about one hundred million American dollars. Take his daughter and I’ll demand he let me transfer the funds out of that bank. If he does, I’ll let her go on some island with a canteen and a chewy bar.

To our continuing ventures, said Marek, as he held up his glass for a toast. I accept your challenge.

Good, I’m glad, replied Kostya. They toasted and took the first swallow. Now let’s finish up our original business.

Marek wiped the froth from his upper lip and said, I’ve inspected all six of the young women you’ve brought me and they are magnificent. You have chosen well, as usual, my friend. Extremely well. My clients will be overjoyed and appreciative when they see them.

Exceptionally beautiful women are difficult to find, but it’s a great challenge, said Kostya with a broad smile. Could a man of leisure have anything more enjoyable to do?

I think not, said Marek, as he handed Kostya a blue velvet bag. I trust you will find the payment of equal quality?

Kostya spilled the contents of the blue bag onto the glass table in front of them; out tumbled three large deep blue sapphires and three light blue diamonds, one of which was easily fifteen carats.

Magnificent! said Kostya, his eyes widening. That is quite generous of you, sir. He picked them up and inspected each one. We have made each other very rich selling women and children over these last five years, have we not?

You started out rich anyway, my friend, said Marek, but I thank you for giving me the opportunity to enrich myself, so paying you top dollar is my way of saying thank you. I already have buyers for the women too, so they won’t be at the mountain for very long.

Good, very good, said Kostya. I shall bring you some more as soon as I can return and arrange it. He gathered the resplendent stones into the bag and left it on the table between them.

They sat back to watch the TV, which was showing a benefit for the relatives of the victims of the Covid-19 pandemic that had killed so many people before vaccines were finally developed. They continued to watch and soon they were both drunk and laughing at their own jokes.

Finally, on the big TV screen, there was a beautiful country western singer with long, thick red hair, named Colorado Jacquette, who got up on the stage and sang her heart out and brought the house down with long-lasting applause and shouting.

Boy, wouldn’t I love to get a piece of that, said Kostya quietly.

After a few moments of silence, Marek said, "Well, exactly how much would you pay to have a piece of that one, too?"

Kostya bent over laughing and spat out his drink. Damn, Marek, he said. What, grabbing the President’s daughter isn’t a big enough challenge?

Well, you’d have to pay me, in loose stones, as usual, but I could try.

Kostya laughed. You’re crazy. You’d never get close enough to either one.

So you were not serious about the Pearl woman after all?

"Oh yes I am, very serious, but it’s not my ass on the line to get caught. It’s yours. But I will pay you if you can pull it off."

Marek smiled as he finished his pisco sour. I shall get you both, he said, putting his glass down hard on the table. But it’s going to cost you forty million in precious stones.

Kostya stared at Marek for long seconds. You are out of your mind, he scoffed. There’s no way you could even get close to the redhead, never mind kidnap the President’s daughter.

You underestimate my team, Kostya. Forty million for both of them. If I just get the redhead, fifteen million. If I only get Charise Pearl, twenty-five million. If I get both, forty million.

‘Only’. Hah! Marek, you’ll be dead or in jail for the rest of your life before you know what happened. I mean, I do believe you’re the best man to do this, and I’m willing to pay, but it’s just such a long shot. He stopped and was just shaking his head. I don’t know…

So, you don’t have the forty million, is that it?

Kostya’s face turned red with anger. Of course, I have the forty million. You know I do. We’re floating on many times that much right now. Just make Charise Pearl your priority, and if you can get the other one, excellent.

What you do with them after you get them is your problem—or pleasure. I’m going to disappear.

Well, I’d keep them and face-fuck them whenever I damn well felt like it, at least until I’ve found another yacht owner like I usually do, but you’ll probably get busted before you even get close to Pearl.

You underestimate me, Kostya. Promise me that if I get either one of those women that you’ll pay me what I ask. In the meantime, keep the girls coming as you’ve been doing, and I’ll pay you as usual in the best of precious stones.

Kostya motioned to the barman to bring them both another drink. He stood and looked out at the sun going down over a flat sea and laughed out loud again.

Okay, you crazy bastard, if you can pull that off, I will pay you what you ask, but I’m not going to pay you for trying. The expenses and how you’re going to do it are all on you. I want no part of the logistics, and I don’t want to know anything about this plan. If you are so unbelievably lucky—

Talented, interrupted Marek, his face deadly serious.

"—if you are so unbelievably talented as to deliver either or both of those women, I will pay you what you ask."

In loose stones, said Marek. Just like we’ve always done.

Well, of course. I’ll have the weight and worth certified ahead of time, okay?

Deal.

The two men leaned forward and shook hands. Kostya laughed loudly yet again, but Marek just looked hard into Kostya’s eyes with a cold stare. You’d better start saving your pennies, my friend, he said. I’m good at this, and you know it.

Kostya just laughed as he took the drink from the barman. See you soon, he said, and raised his glass to an already departing Marek, who waved goodbye without looking at him and headed down to his own boat, the Bloodstone, docked inside the Turquoise Lament’s aft tender garage.

Chapter Two

Starry Night

The three women were held captive by the confines of the yacht Emeraldine and the expanse of a calm black sea under a cloudless night with a new moon and scintillating stars. The yacht was one hundred one feet long and rested motionless, save the occasional movement by the autopilot to stay on station. They were at an agreed upon spot off the coast of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, to exchange the women for a dazzling and large collection of precious gems.

To the north northwest, in the distance, the skipper could see the expected yacht heading straight for them. He called over his shoulder to the first mate, Here they come, off the port bow.

The first mate, whose name was Nadav, made ready the rubber fenders and the lines for hoving-to with the oncoming vessel. He then stepped down the companionway to the cabin below where the three women sat glumly and apprehensively on the couches along the bulkheads. Get ready. We’re moving you to another boat.

The women solemnly gathered their purses and things they’d been allowed to keep.

Soon the approaching yacht was but a hundred yards away when it began to slow its engines. Its following wake pushed it gently up and down as it caught up with the boat then the engine was cut to a silent idle speed.

The captain of the Emeraldine switched on the searchlight and shone it at the approaching yacht. As the distance closed, he barked through the ship’s hailer, Ahoy! Name your vessel!

The other skipper blared back on his hailer, London Blue!

Come alongside, then.

The London Blue made her way slowly to come abeam of the Emeraldine.

One man from each vessel tied lines to their bow, stern and beam cleats, cinching the boats snug against the rubber fenders between them. One other man on each boat held submachine guns and locked eyes on the others, their guns pointing obliquely at no one in particular. The skipper of the Emeraldine took quick glances at the men and their activities while the skipper of the London Blue stood in the dark of the cabin by the wheel of his boat.

The skipper of the Emeraldine stepped to the gunwale and shouted at the other skipper. Step out here. Let me see the stones.

The skipper of the London Blue stepped into the glow of the faint deck lights. His hair was black and peppered with silver, and he had a beer drinker’s belly. His lower lip protruded from a grizzled face with puffy cheeks. With little effort, his voice, used to shouting orders over stormy seas and diesel engines, projected very loud and gravelly: Let me see the women first.

Neither skipper moved for a moment then the skipper of the Emeraldine turned and shouted down the companionway, All right ladies, let’s go, everybody up on deck.

The women came up the companionway.

Right, the skipper of the Emeraldine shouted, now show me the stones! Everyone on the Emeraldine was now facing the skipper and crew of the London Blue.

Just then, a man in a wetsuit and still wet from a breath-hold dive below both boats silently and quickly pulled himself up onto the transom of the Emeraldine and with a Glock 21 shot its skipper in the back of the head. The man with a submachine gun on the London Blue opened fire on the other two men and killed them before they got off a single shot.

The women screamed—all except one who immediately took three quick steps across the after-deck and dove off the starboard quarter of the stern and into the deep black water.

The skipper of the London Blue bellowed, Find her! He tossed a flashlight to one of his men, then all the men quietly searched the sea around them. The skipper climbed to the flying bridge, turned on the searchlight, and began shining near the stern of the Emeraldine looking for her.

The man in the wetsuit stepped quickly back over to the London Blue and retrieved an underwater light and fins from the dive bag he’d left on deck. He put on his fins and jumped back in the water to look for the woman.

The two captive women screamed hysterically, looking down as they stepped in the spreading blood from the slain crew of the Emeraldine. The skipper lay face up, his eyes open but lifeless. The crew members were twisted and crumpled in death and still bleeding profusely.

* * *

The woman who had jumped into the sea held her breath as she swam back under the two boats and toward the bow of the London Blue. She had been on boats before and was a diver and knew it would be hard for them to see her if she were just under the bow. If none of them jumped into the sea to look for her, she had a chance—a slim one, but a chance.

Then she heard the splash and realized the man with the wetsuit had probably jumped into the water to find her. She took a deep breath and dove down as far as she could, her eyes constantly opened. In the pitch black and with no face mask, everything was blurry, but she could see the man’s underwater light surveying the area in front of the direction in which he was traveling; he had no scuba gear so he was holding his breath too.

He was moving away from her so she surfaced as silently as she could but bumped her head on the hull of the London Blue. She swam underwater toward where she thought the bow was and surfaced again quietly. She was close to the bow but not under it like she was before. She backstroked further away from the boat, keeping a careful eye on the lights flashing from the boat out over the sea, then dove again to see where the skin diver was heading. He was heading toward her, the arc of his light swinging back and forth. She surfaced quietly again, saw there were no lights shining out toward her, then—so there were no splashes from her swimming—quickly swam a breaststroke away from the diver.

She turned and stuck her head under water and noticed by the glow that he was returning toward the boat. She dove down and swam toward him, but not too close, as he swam toward the boat. She pulled up near the bow again, and waited for the diver to return to the boat.

The diver swam up next to a ladder the crew had put down for him and said, Nothing. I couldn’t find her.

She heard the skipper of the London Blue roar from the flying bridge down to his men, Never mind! There’s no way she can survive out here without a boat. You women over there, shut the hell up and move over here!

The women continued whimpering, frozen in fear.

I said move! Now!

She heard the two other women struggle mightily to contain their cries as they stepped quietly over to the London Blue.

The skipper spoke loudly from the flying bridge to the men scattered about the boat: We’ll just have to make do with the two of them. I’ll go ahead and meet Julene at Aruba’s on Saturday at noon like we planned and call Marek and tell him what happened. Nothing else we can do. Torch the boat and let’s get the hell out of here.

The woman in the sea treaded water in a gathering panic wondering what to do next. She heard the crew scurry around below deck, then peeked around the bow to see them carrying fuel cans back over to the Emeraldine. They doused the yacht and its dead crew with the fuel, then stepped back aboard the London Blue. The crew untied the lines, then she heard the engine engage with the propeller and saw the boat start to creep forward slowly. The crew threw some flares over onto the Emeraldine and in seconds the boat was on fire with flames spreading rapidly.

Just as she took a deep breath and swam as deeply as she could, she heard the engine roar and finally diminish as it sped away from the scene. Her lungs bursting, she shot to the surface and gasped. The Emeraldine was ablaze and the heat warmed her face. She turned as she treaded water and saw the London Blue speeding away, its white wake shining and undulating under the brilliant moonlight and starry skies, the low roar of the engine fading in the distance.

There were no other boats nearby and the coast was too far away to see clearly, but at least she saw some lights. As she turned again to look at the blazing boat, she could see it begin to sink slowly, then more rapidly, and then it was gone. There was nothing for her to do now but swim for the lights and pray for survival.

Chapter Three

Marathon

Jason Geronimo Stouter was on the last lap of his jog along a trail through the mangrove thicket near his house on Yellowtail Beach, a short distance from the city of Marathon on the island of Key Vaca in the Florida Keys. At six and a half feet tall, with thick jet-black hair and still retaining the high cheek bones and swarthy skin of his half-Apache heritage, his routine dedication to keep the muscle on and the fat off, made for an impressive warrior of a man for being in his early forties.

The day was the typical steamy heat in the high eighties in the Keys, and the woody smell of the mangroves and Geiger trees filled the air yet restrained any possible breeze from cooling Jason in his run.

Jamie Horgood stepped into the path a short distance in front of him. Jason knew her well, every inch of her—every golden-furred curve of her sensuous body and the moist puffiness of her lips. He thought of her often, though they hadn’t been lovers since their time together in the Agency just a few years ago.

His pace slowed and he placed his hands on his hips as he slowed to a walk, his breathing labored and sweat pouring into his soaked Conch Nation T-shirt.

Jamie, he said, smiling and shaking his head slowly.

Hi, Jason, she said quietly.

He loved that big beautiful toothy smile of hers, and the cascade of her lush brown hair over her shoulders enhanced her sunny charm and slim physique. She wore a shiny turquoise blouse and khaki knee-length shorts.

Still breathing heavily from his run, he said, God you are so beautiful. Still.

Well, it hasn’t been that long, she said with an affected frown.

Jason lifted her and they embraced with a short kiss.

Is this an official visit, or would I be so lucky as to entertain you for a vacation?

I wish, she said. He put her down and they turned and walked slowly with arms around each other toward Jason’s home.

Are you still an Intelligence Analyst in International Operations working for Homeland Security Investigations? asked Jason.

I am that, and HSI just received an anonymous tip, she began, a recording, and they believe it’s reliable, but they don’t want to sidetrack personnel on something that may go nowhere, especially with all this crap happening in the Middle East after the Middle East Plague. It’s all hands on deck for that.

She didn’t know of Jason’s involvement in that and he saw no reason to tell her. His great friend Sali Bryant, and his former secretary, the beautiful Celine Venturi, had miraculously survived and nobody from the Agency or the Bureau was keen for the word to get out on that one. Codon Zero could remain a secret forever as far as they were all concerned.

Jason turned his head to her and waited for her to continue as the south Florida sun beat down upon them. He caught a waft of her Mariel perfume and felt a stab of regret for their separation back then. They had broken each other’s hearts, but remained close after the salve of time.

They want to subcontract you to follow up on a lead, she said, as they continued their slow walk, See what’s there. If you find something, then we’ll follow up and take care of it.

So, what’s the tip?

We got a call from a man who says that a woman named Julene is supposed to be receiving a large number of stolen jewels from a man whom the informant described as a tall fat captain of a yacht with a face that looks like Bluto from the old Popeye comics—big white teeth surrounded by a jet-black mustache and beard. He wears a blue sailor’s cap with no insignias or marks on it. The transfer is supposed to happen this coming Saturday at a restaurant in Fort Lauderdale called Aruba’s Beachside Cafe. I checked it out online. It’s on the beach at the end of Commercial Boulevard.

Ah, yes, I know it well. I’ve been there a few times. Great place. Right on the beach. Live music every night.

The source said the jewels are part of an international kidnapping and human trafficking scheme. That’s what makes it HSI business, as well as the Bureau’s business, and the Department of State’s, if it’s true.

They stopped. I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know much about human trafficking except from what I’ve read—I mean I’ve never witnessed it. I don’t know how to recognize it because it’s apparently so well hidden, and I don’t see the connection between jewel smuggling and human trafficking anyway.

We don’t know what the connection is, except, thing is, you can’t just grab the jewels, especially since we don’t even know if there are any jewels, and we have no probable cause and don’t know enough, but if you see a man who fits the description handing anything over to a woman, then follow the woman and see what you can find out about her. Maybe you can get Sali’s help, too, and follow the captain and find out where he goes and what he does.

Jason nodded. Let me check up on a few things and I’ll give you a yes or no tomorrow.

If you decide yes, we’ll bankroll you as an outside contractor up to a point—just let me know what you want to do and how you want to do it, along with a budget, so I can report it up the chain.

Jason smiled and nodded. Okay. Would you like to stay for dinner?

Her eyes glistened and she smiled. I’d love to.

* * *

Jason’s internal clock woke him at four-thirty the next morning. He lit a candle next to his bed then turned gently so as not to awaken her. She was asleep with a small smile on her face, just as he had always remembered her. He never knew any other women who did that—smiled all night long. It was so nice to be with her again.

Hey, sleepyhead, he murmured. Time for your morning exercise program.

Her grin widened and she put her arm around him without opening her eyes. Are you leading?

They kissed and the exercises commenced.

* * *

It’s good to be with you again, Jason, she said as she dressed.

Jason smiled. Indeed.

A short while after a delicious breakfast of island fruits and scrambled eggs with bell peppers, onions and cheddar cheese, Jason stood in front of his house and waved goodbye to her as she roared off to the Miami Airport in her compact rental car. He would miss her, but it was nice to know they were working together again,